


Before We Part Ways

by cupofdaydream



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofdaydream/pseuds/cupofdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the Day of Black Sun, Zuko makes the walk across the street to Mai's house to say his goodbyes. Parting ways is easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Part Ways

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Rated M for sexual situations, however, it's nothing explicit—it's less about sex and more about the emotions Zuko experiences in leaving.

**Before We Part Ways**

It was only supposed to be a kiss.

A final kiss, his last goodbye, his last chance to see her again before everything changed.

The walk across the street from gate to gate seems even shorter than usual. His lungs sting, and his heart pounds, and all he really wants at the moment is for time to just slow down.

The looming red doors rush towards him as he climbs up the familiar steps. He pauses, listening to the night around him, the stillness heavy on his shoulders, he brings a hand to the ring of the door knocker, swinging it down so that metal meets metal.

The protest of the knocker drops, and then dies behind the red-painted wood, and in its wake, the bolts on the other side click and slide.

"Hey," Mai says when she opens the door.

"Hey," Zuko says back.

"No servants?"

"I snuck out."

She nods her head, and they both peer across the dimly lit street. The Palace towers overhead, the night masking it in a sinister cloak of shadows, the orange flames that wither in every window the only indicator of the menacing hearth within.

Before Zuko can say a word, the smooth, pale inside of her wrist slips out from behind burgundy robes, beckoning him in. His broad fingers curl around her delicate hand, and she pulls him inside, the red doors groaning in effort at the close.

"There's something I have to tell you," he says. His voice is a whisper, careful not to wake the slumber of the empty house.

"It can wait," she says. And her tawny eyes sparkle.

Her soft laughter rings throughout the hollow house, the whispering echo of her voice warming his chest and rattling his bones as they clamber up winding stairs. Their shadows dance through the corridors, gray figures flitting past ornate tapestries. And if Zuko let's him lose himself, tonight's just like any summer night, with all the servants dismissed to their quarters, the humidity of Fire Nation summers filling the air, and the view of the Palace that lies in wait with the morning. But as they make their way past an open window, Zuko catches sight of the full moon, hanging in the sky with the threat of tomorrow. The vision is gone, and he can only long.

They make it to her bedroom, and Zuko makes his regular rounds, lighting the candles placed throughout the room. Mai lounges expectantly on the couch.

"I can't stay long," he says, his fingers tracing the windowsill where the moonlight crosses over into the bedroom.

"You're no fun," Mai pouts, but Zuko recognizes the smile that lies beneath. She sits up, adjusting herself among the cushions. "No one's forcing you to stay," she sighs.

"I know."

"Of course, no one's forcing you to  _go_  either."

"I know  _that_ , too," he says, and this time, he's the one to sigh.

The air hangs dead between them, both Mai and Zuko calculating. He needs to do it. Now. He can't keep putting it off. He can't keep pretending that tonight is just like any other summer night.

It was only supposed to be a kiss—just one—and then he'd say his goodbyes. The intent wasn't to tell her everything—that was what the letter was for—but to make this all as painless as possible for the both of them.

"I care about you," he finally tells her. His voice hitches in his throat.

Her eyes sharpen, analyzing every part of him. Her teasing air is broken, and she rises to her feet, crossing the room to meet him. Her hand reaches up and rests on his cheek.

Guilt hits, and he flinches at her touch.

"I care about you, too," she say, her voice even. She looks at him quizzically, searching his face for any indication for his actions. Her other hand pulls him closer, encircling his waist. "Zuko, what's this about?"

His head pounds incessantly, voices accusing and ridiculing, and threatening to tear him apart. He can't meet her gaze. "I just—I care about you. And I always will."

Zuko closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. His chest aches, and his head screams even louder. Thoughts swarm his mind, and it's like he can't breathe, so he silences the voices in his head, and kisses her.

It was only supposed to be just a kiss, but everything burns. His head and chest are ignited in flames, and he writhes in an agony that can only be remedied if he stays here. So he pulls her closer, her robes gripped tightly in his fists, he anchors himself down, no longer capable of fathoming how it was ever possible to even consider leaving her side. Just one kiss turns into just two, and then just three, and then another, and another.

She pulls away, and gasps for air. Her chest rises and falls with each breath. Her brow furrows, and she looks at him hard. But it's only for a moment, and when she kisses him again, she kisses him firmly on the mouth, making her way to his jaw and down his neck.

And Zuko forces himself to forget. He forgets tomorrow, and the eclipse, and the letter sitting on his bedside table, and he remembers instead. He imprints the smell of her hair in his mind, memorizing how it spills over her shoulders and back when it's loose. He takes in exactly how her soft lips feel against the pulse in his neck, and how her delicate fingers scrape his stomach as they fight to undo his robes.

They fall back into the red silk sheets of her bed, the journey made a mystery, and he stretches out over her, burying his face in the bend of her shoulder, the sweet aroma of apple-blossoms and sweat filling his nose as he laps at the soft skin of her collar-bone. A breathy moan floats past her lips, and Zuko forces himself to sit up.

Misted-over tawny eyes watch as he kicks off the rest of his clothes and pulls open her robes, revealing light curves and swells, and smooth alabaster skin before him. His thumbs hook around the waistband of her underwear and tug, and then his hands and lips are everywhere, taking in each dip and bend of her body and imprinting it into memory.

It's really no different from all the other countless times they've spent tangled in the sheets, but this time being the last, Zuko savors every moment, silencing the voices that claw at his skin, instead cherishing the way her hands run down and past his abdomen, and then up again to his chest. He spends a prolonged moment at each of her fingertips, her nose, and eyelids, and cheeks; he lavishes her beating pulse at both sides her neck, her wrists, and her chest, leaving his farewell with a kiss and the touch of his tongue.

With a shaking sigh, she breathes his name, and his ears ache with longing at the sound. Zuko makes the journey back up, placing kisses at her mouth once more, and they join together in a gasp and a broken moan.

Mai arches up into him, and her head thrown back, she cries out, her breasts grazing Zuko's chest as she tries to regain her breath. They stay like that for a moment, adjusting and waiting. When Mai opens her eyes again, they're hazy—just barely focusing in on his. And they begin to move.

It's then that the realization hits him, when all of his senses are overwhelmed, and he's drowning in Mai. All of his efforts are all for naught. Any blurred memory he'd ever manage to lock away would wither in comparison to the one in his arms. He comes face to face with the reality that as he'll fade from the portrait by her bedside, she'll eventually fade from the corners of his mind as well—and all he can do is blink away the tears that have settled in the corners of his eyes, and cling to her for as long as he can.

He pulls her tighter and tighter, and she obliges, her legs wrapped desperately round his waist, their slick bodies appearing almost as one under the haunting, pale glow of the moon. At one point, her teeth are at his shoulder, and her fingers settle at his backside just after scraping down his ribs.

Zuko holds on tight to the moments spent on sandy shores, and under orange sunrises and sunsets. Visions of leisure spent in the Palace gardens, a comforting hand on his knee, with her body close to his—he clings to the fleeting memories, watching as they only slip away, vanishing into a cavernous nothingness.

They build slowly to the finish. Her nails carve into his shoulders as they move together in a steady yet driving rhythm; and her name is sweet on his tongue as they meet and part. The pressure grows between them, stretching like a taut bowstring as they climb together towards their end.

With a shudder and a cry, the bowstring snaps, and Mai falls first, Zuko following not far behind, release crashing over them wave, after wave, after wave.

Both of them still catching their breath, Zuko rolls off of her, exhaling as his back hits the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind is finally silent for just a moment. And he feels so cold.

The voices in his head have finally quieted, watching intently as flesh splits open on its own accord.

All he can feel is guilt, and remorse, and a gaping emptiness inside, freezing his insides in an infinitesimal winter. He's leaving tomorrow. He's resolved on that. But he's made things worse—much, much worse. The letter should've been the only thing he left behind—departing like this will do her no good, and he's done himself no favors either in trying to remember. In the process, he's subjected himself to an eternity of nights alone, yearning for her apple-blossom scent and a warm body beside him. He's damned them both.

Fingers graze the side of his face, and his own hand instinctively goes there. They come away wet. He turns away, wiping his eyes on the sheets.

"Zuko?" Mai whispers.

He doesn't answer, and when he faces her again, he can't read her expression.

She doesn't push any further; instead, she takes his hand, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles before pulling the covers up over their shoulders, and nestling herself into his arms. And with that, one last kiss becomes one last night.

 

**_. . ._ **

He rises just as the sun peers through her bedroom window, the morning an uneasy quiet, equal to the night before. Zuko slides out from beneath the covers, and sits on the edge of the bed, mind and body numb. He takes a glance at the sleeping form beside him, lips parted, and eyes closed in peace. He rises without a sound, searching the room, he gathers his clothes and dresses quickly, about to leave when he hears a yawn behind him.

Mai stretches out in the red silk sheets, the covers falling and exposing her breasts and abdomen.

"No 'Good Morning?'" she asks—her voice still carrying a twinge of sarcasm despite its drowsy state, "No 'Goodbye?'"

Zuko crosses the room.

One hand tilting her head upwards, and the other pushing back the bangs sticking to her face, he presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, her eyes closing at his touch.

"Goodbye," he says.

His fingers glide across the sheets as he leaves, and go cold when the fabric leaves his reach. He counts the steps from her side to the bedroom door, leaving without another word.


End file.
